


The Airport

by Isailaway



Series: ‘Life is a journey not a destination’ Ralph Waldo Emerson [2]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isailaway/pseuds/Isailaway
Summary: Three months after Destination Paris, they’re on their way to Corsica.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Series: ‘Life is a journey not a destination’ Ralph Waldo Emerson [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104608
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	The Airport

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said it was best to leave them there, in Strasbourg but I found I couldn’t let them go quite yet. This is written as a stand-alone but would make a heck of a lot more sense if you read Destination Paris first.  
> I’m not sure I’ve been successful at getting the flow of this right nor writing both points of view at the same time but I’ve given it a go.

“Camille, how is it possible that you have so much stuff?” 

Camille ducked her head around the corner of the bedroom. “Hey! Never ask a lady those sorts of questions.”

“But I don’t understand. You’ve only been in Paris a matter of months and when I first came to visit-”

“You mean turned up in the dead of night like a spectre.”

He glared at her. “When I first came to visit you here, during the early evening, it didn’t seem like it was particularly lived in.”

Camille shrugged. It was true that she had settled in much more since reconnecting with Richard, buying throw rugs, small trinkets and items that suddenly seemed very necessary to have to hand. Like a tea pot and china cups and saucers. 

“How do you do that?” She asked. 

“Hmm?” He scanned around the open plan reception room, mentally totting up what still needed to be done. 

“If I presented you with a building, or took you to a crime scene, no detail would go unseen, yet on a regular basis you appear to be incapable of reading my -anyone’s- body language.” 

“Buildings can’t tell me they don’t like me.” Richard muttered underneath his breath, body jolting in surprise when he looked up and she was standing a foot away, studying him. Sometimes he felt like a specimen in a laboratory. 

“Don’t do that!” He put a hand on his chest, heart galloping. 

“Don’t do what?” She teased.

“You’ll give me a heart attack sneaking up like you do.” 

“Oh I’m sure your heart has withstood worse,” she replied sarcastically, flicking a long dark curl back over her shoulder.

He didn’t think she had quite forgiven him for his arrival in Paris three months earlier. He could admit to himself that he should probably have handled it better but that was the story of his life. He hadn’t actually worked out what better looked like but he was working on it. 

“Come and help me with this” she instructed, striding back into the bedroom.

He followed her in, and was directed with a flick of her fingers to sit on the bulging suitcase.

Richard groaned as she tugged ineffectually at the zip but didn’t dare suggest they swop roles. “We’re never going to be at the airport in time.”

“Yes we will. We just won’t be there five hours too early for flight that only takes 90 minutes.”

“It always takes longer than you think when you have check in baggage. And with all the rules around security, it pays to be prepared.”

Camille rolled her eyes, wondering why she’d agreed to him helping pack up. She could have met him at the airport, all checked in and ready to relax with a small beer. “You didn’t have to accompany me you know, I’m perfectly capable. Did you think I wouldn’t turn up?” 

Richard shifted uncomfortably on the suitcase, not wanting to acknowledge the sliver of uncertainty he’d struggled to extinguish since first asking her to come and work alongside him in Corsica. 

“Oh my goodness, you did didn’t you! Richard?” She admonished, letting go of the zip and straightening up, hands on hips. “What do I actually have to do to-” 

Richards mind drifted, missing the end of her sentence. A profusion of images flooded his brain of the ways she really could persuade him of her intentions to uproot herself and follow him, warmth spreading through his body.

“Well, if that kind of thing would work, then I’m all for giving it a try,” Camille smirked, any frustration evaporating as she noted the expressions flitting across his face. “But I fear we would most certainly miss the flight.”

He shivered, trying to banish the errant thoughts, checked his watch, just to make certain, then silently cursed the woman stood in front of him and signalled exasperatedly to redirect her to the task in hand. 

“Yeah yeah.” She stooped, grasping hold of the suitcase zip once more. 

The last twelve weeks had been wonderful Camille acknowledged. It had been filled with phone calls and weekend trips. Music he’d enjoyed and wanted to share or french sentences he’d encountered and needed help to make sense of. Funny memes she’d seen and forwarded, and his dry replies that never failed to make her giggle. If the organisation of the move and the nearly 500km distance between Paris and Strasbourg had meant the rediscovery of their friendship was being taken at a slow pace then on balance she felt it was no bad thing. It would be worth it, she was certain there was a potential for more than friendship and maybe she’d finally manage to tell other people the real reason for relocating yet again.

The application process had been reasonably straightforward given Richard was already confirmed in his role but he’d sat with her through all the annoying form filling, a necessity she hated far more than he did. When word came through of her success, he boarded a train to Paris once more to celebrate, sharing a charcuterie board Camille had put together, with a bottle of Crémant d’Alsace he’d been gifted by a council member who had wanted to rectify Richards lack of knowledge of the sparkling wine. 

Her colleagues and superiors had been surprised at her sudden move but Camille felt sure that someone somewhere had had a word in the right ear because there was no lengthy working out her notice, and she was able to wrap up or delegate her caseload with ease. Adele had quizzed her more forcefully, mostly unsuccessfully although she had extracted the promise of an invite. Camille wondered what the protective french woman would make of Richard if they ever met.

Initially they’d made plans to move into short term rentals, in property owned by the Police. She anticipated the first few weeks were going to be spent juggling job inductions with finding longer term accommodation. The thought of yet more house hunting was unappealing but each time her mood dipped, she reminded herself of how different her future looked in comparison to those lonely hours on a plane leaving St Marie less than a year ago. 

*****

As well as being the islands capital and its largest city, Ajaccio was packed full of historical significance. Hours of Google searching, and Richards brief reconnaissance trip had given them a flavour of its heritage, a hint of the issues with nationalism and their increasing reliance on tourism. He felt he wasn’t alone in his excitement for the new challenge, the sensation an unfamiliar one. Camille had asked him about that, she vividly remembered his arrival on St Marie five long years ago and knew how he usually dealt with change. She’d actually pouted, suggesting that in the future she was going to have to work harder at finding things to tease him about, which did strange things to his stomach. Analysing himself for any period of time made him feel uncomfortable but he suspected that the difference was a lot to do with her presence along the journey. Every-time she expressed positivity about the move, it filled him with an uncharacteristic exhilaration.

Dragging the heavy luggage out to the taxi an hour later, Richard directed a quick thank you to whomever had provided him with the foresight to have his own possessions sent ahead. The lack of direct flights from Strasbourg and his desire to arrive in Corsica at a similar time as Camille had formed the decision and it was now paying dividends because he should have realised she would be on a different time plan to him.

He watched as Camille chatted casually with the driver, allowing the man to heave her bags in with abandon and quickened his pace down the steps, better to direct the careful loading. Camille grinned at him, rolled her eyes and clambered into the back seat, letting him get on with it. 

*****

The check in process went remarkably smoothly. As the flight attendant meandered through her list of questions, Camille was surprised her companion maintained his silent stance alongside her, handing over his passport without comment when directed. His only sign of discomfort was the crimson tips of his ears when they were cheerily asked how long they’d been together. Camille shrugged and gave a noncommittal answer not allowing herself to wonder why he hadn’t corrected the woman. 

Breezing through security, she couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of him behind her, struggling to remove his shoes and belt whilst retaining hold of his passport and phone. He glared at her from the other side of the body scanner, the distraction allowing someone else to slip though in front of him. Camille clapped a hand over her mouth to quieten her guffaw.

Fully reassembled and reunited with their valuables, they wandered into duty free, Camille trying on sunglasses, waving perfume samples in front of Richards face and ribbing him about needing a new tie since he was travelling without one. Receiving only mild protests she hastily added her favourite choice to the basket, alongside the scent that she’d noticed caught his attention and lined up at the checkout. Richard sidled up beside her and shiftily dropped two packets of jelly babies into the basket. When she levelled her gaze at him he bluffed it out, suggesting it was to prevent their ears popping on the flight, then attempted to take them back off her once she’d paid. She refused and held the bag firmly behind her back until he huffed and accepted defeat, agreeing to find some hot drinks whilst she looked after the hand-luggage.

*****

“Richard?” 

“Yes?” Stood patiently, third in line in the queue, Richard turned. He thought he recognised, but couldn’t quite place the voice calling his name in a heavily accented English. 

“Mon dieu, c’est un fantôme.”

Catherine stood at the end of the counter, takeaway cup in hand. She was as white as a sheet, jaw hanging open. Richard stared at her, searching for an appropriate greeting when her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the floor, coffee spilling across the shiny quartz. 

“Shit!” Sidestepping out of his place in the line he barked instructions at the motionless barista, asking for cold water, towels and suggesting they get a warning sign placed over the spillage, then made his way to the woman laying inert on the concourse. 

He was carefully placing his rolled up jacket beneath her head when he heard a shriek from close behind him indicating Camille had seen them and was fast approaching.

“Maman!”

He held up a warning hand, looking around for her. “She’s ok. She just fainted. She’s breathing and I’ve checked her pulse.” 

“Oh thank god.” Camille dropped a hand onto his shoulder, lowering herself to the floor by his side and peering over her mother.

Richard shifted back onto his haunches to give her room, eyes casually sweeping across the open space. Now that the two of them were hunched over Catherine, obviously tending to her, it appeared that they had been dismissed from peoples consciousness. Even the water he’d requested was yet to be forthcoming. 

“Camille, what is your mother doing here?” He questioned abruptly as the incongruity occurred to him.

“I have no idea. Really. She never said anything to me.”

“And, tell me I’m wrong, but I have a sneaky suspicion that she doesn’t know about me.” He directed a pointed glance at her as she smoothed hair away from her mother’s brow.

Camille grimaced. “Don’t-”

“After all the grief you’ve given me for not telling you sooner.”

“Uh uh, no way. That was an entirely different situation.” She scowled at him. “I just didn’t know how to start the conversation when she was so many miles away.” 

“Indeed.”

“And I thought if I could see her face to face.” 

“So you did know she was coming.”

“Yes, well no. Not now!” She sighed. “We’d agreed that she’d come and visit me next week just before I started work. I thought she could help me settle in, help search for a longer term rental, and whilst she was with me, I could sit her down and explain the rest.” 

“The rest being?” He couldn’t help digging. 

“That it was a miracle. That you were alive and we had found each other and an opportunity for us to work together again had come up and that I’m really happy about that and-“ she trailed off, leaving him wondering what she might have gone on to say. 

“Well now’s your chance.” He nodded his head towards Catherine who was stirring, eyelashes fluttering. He adjusted his body, retreating back from immediate eye-line to let her daughter greet her. 

“Maman!” 

“C, Camille? Oh ma chère.” Catherine tried to push herself up into sitting, hand slipping in the spilt coffee. Camille grasped her arm and slowly eased her mother up to comfortably rest her back against the counter. 

“Does anything hurt? Take a minute, don’t rush to get up.” 

“I’m fine darling. I just, I don’t know what happened. I thought I saw-” she frowned, catching her daughters wince. “-Camille?” 

“You see, the thing is-” 

“What’s going on?” 

“You were supposed to be coming to visit next week.”

“Well I moved my flights forward thinking I could come and surprise you. I flew in to Paris first thing this morning.” 

Camille smiled tightly, “That’s a really lovely thought but-”

“Surprise!?”

Catherine started at Richards interjection, her shocked inhalation audible as she turned to look at the man hovering around the end of the cafes counter.

“Richard!” Camille hissed. 

“What?” 

“You didn’t need to jump in like that, I was telling her.” 

“Well not very well as far as I could see. We haven’t got all day.” 

“Richard Poole!” Catherine exclaimed, cutting through the brewing squabble. 

She beckoned him closer, waiting until he’d slowly edged back around the counter and bent down in front of her, then poked his nose firmly. 

“Madam Bordey- Catherine. As delightful as it is to see you, might I ask that you refrain from poking me.”

“You’re alive?” She pinched his cheek hard for good measure, withdrawing when he batted her hand away.

“What is it with you Bordey women and your propensity to assault me at first sight?” He grumbled.

“You knew Camille?” Catherine transferred the force of her stare to her daughter. “And you didn’t tell me? Was this why you left?”

“You see, this is why I was waiting to tell her in person.” Camille glared up at Richard then sighed, reaching her hands out. “Come on Maman, let’s go and sit down somewhere more comfortable. We can talk whilst Richard gets you another coffee.”

Richard lifted his arm to check his watch then lowered it again slowly when he caught another pointed stare from Camille. 

“We have time.” She asserted, aware of him moving back to start the queuing process again with a put upon expression but no further protest.

*****

It was twenty minutes later when Richard made his way across to the two women. Head down, juggling takeaway cups and chocolate chip cookies wrapped in paper napkins, he was almost next to them before he looked up, making fleeting eye contact with Camille. She subtly wiped the moisture from her eyes and directed him to the chair next to her with a small smile, watching as he approached warily. Catherine remained oblivious, crying noisily into the younger woman’s shoulder. Patting her mother’s back, Camille spoke in low tones to let her know that Richard had returned with hot coffee and took a moment to compose herself before accepting the food and drink offering. 

The unexpected arrival of her mother had taken her by surprise more than she might have expected since she had lived away from the Island for extended periods and had not always been able to maintain the regular contact they enjoyed now through video calls. She felt quite emotional, possibly transparently so. She was excruciatingly aware that Catherine had picked up something of her feelings for the man sat next to her, awkwardly waiting for them to wipe their tears and talk about something less sentimental.

Catherine finally raised her head, accepting a cotton handkerchief from Richard and dabbing at her eyes. She blew her nose firmly and looked like she was thinking about returning the soiled item to him. Camille saw his grimace and relaxed, some of the charged tension dissipating. 

“Well, here we are.” Her mother mused, looking across at her two companions and sniffing.

Richard frowned. “Why do people say that?”

“Pardon?” 

“Well here we are.” He held his fingers up, drawing invisible quote marks in the air. “Are you asking me a question? Am I supposed to answer?” He swivelled around in his chair to face them. “I mean are you using the phrase in a metaphorical context, are you trying to give me something or are you simply stating a fact. We are here. In an airport.” 

Camille placed a hand on her mother’s knee, halting whatever response Catherine was about to make. “Richard, how long do you think it will be until our gate opens?” 

“I’ll go and find out.” He took the bait, setting off to look at the departures board. 

Camille adjusted her gaze, Catherine was studying her over the rim of her coffee cup. “He was deflecting. He’s not comfortable with overt demonstrations of emotion. Especially not in such a public place!” She elaborated. 

“You don’t sa-.” The older woman swallowed, continuing in a less sarcastic tone. “Well you know him best darling.” 

“Gate 15. It’s just changed on the board.” Richard was already hurrying back towards them. “Are you ready?” 

Camille gathered her things together, discarding the takeaway packaging in the bin at the end of the row of seats. “I need a trip to the ladies first.” 

Catherine stood, preparing to follow her daughter, then appeared to think better of it. She paused and looked directly at Richard.

“You had better take very good care of my daughter. She has followed you all around the world, more than once it seems to me, so you had better be worth the sacrifice.”

His brows knit together, slightly bemused. “Camille is an intelligent, independent woman. I don’t think she’ll appreciate me trying to look after her.” 

“You can’t be so obtuse Richard. I don’t believe it. She might not be telling me everything but a mother knows when her daughter is in love. So what are you going to do with her gift to you. Are you in love with her too?” 

Richard stood stock still. His heart lurched once, twice and then began to beat wildly. A feeling that was something like hope daring to make its presence known. He stared at Catherine uselessly, unable to form a response.

“Well I’m glad we’ve had this chat. Close your mouth, you look like a fish.” She hooked her bag over her shoulder and followed the path Camille had taken to the toilets. 

Richard sat down heavily, glad for the seat behind him. His mind was reeling. He knew Camille tolerated him, flirted with him, had been unmistakably affected by his apparent demise and subsequent resurrection but she was such a warm extrovert person that he hadn’t stopped to assess whether she treated him any differently to other men in her life. He pursed his lips, not that he saw her around other men, not since St Marie.

He thought back over the last three months, trying to bring some sort of order to the tornado inside him. Her violent reaction to his clumsy arrival at her flat, her desire to understand what had happened during their long lunch the following day and her ongoing eagerness to include him in her life with evening and weekend meet ups and protracted phone conversations. The memes he didn’t always understand but she persisted in sending and the teasing smile she often wore when winding him up. The anxiousness he’d noticed when he told her about Corsica and her instantaneous response when he’d asked her to consider coming with him, willing to leave behind friends and a job in a city that she loved without knowing any details. Maths hadn’t been his best subject at school but with Catherine’s confident assertion he could now see what adding all these moments together might suggest. 

“Richard? Are you alright?” Camille had returned unnoticed, her mother slightly behind her, wearing a knowing smile. 

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck roughly. “Shall we head to the gate now?” 

He stood up, gathering his jacket and briefcase under an arm and strode purposefully down the concourse to join the growing queue of holidaymakers. Scanning the line ahead of them, he picked out couples and groups wearing the universal uniform of hikers, families looking like they were already ready for the beach, the odd businessman in a suit. All with their own sets of hopes and ambitions. Each one making the journey for an important reason. 

He looked down at himself, then across at the women stood by him. Camille was attempting to smooth her unruly curls back into a low ponytail, and her mother was studying the headlines on the free newspaper she’d picked up on their way down the corridor.

He cleared his throat. “Catherine, would you mind-, I just need to borrow Camille for a second.”

Catherine smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgment as Camille paused questioningly, her arms above her head and hands holding her hair back. Richard grabbed an elbow, tugging her across the corridor to gain a few precious metres of privacy. 

“What’s going on Richard?” Camille studied him, lowering her arms slowly.

“I wanted-”

“Yes?” She narrowed her eyes, catching his nervous glance back towards Catherine. 

“What I wanted to say is-”

“Has my mother said something to you? I’m going to kill her.” She growled, taking a step away.

Richard grabbed her arm again, “No, wait.”

“The authorities might not even arrest me. They’d understand me strangling her to death.”

“What I’m trying to say-”

“Make it quick Richard, I have a murder to commit.”

“I’m in love with you.” He blurted loudly, the queueing people nearest them turning to look.

Camille stopped moving and stared at him, eyes wide. 

He felt flushed. He took a deep breath and then continued. “And I think if we’re going to be working together again, then you ought to know that. And I’d like to take you out on a date. If that’s ok.”

“What? Now?”

He cast a quick glance around him. “Well no, obviously not.”

“So, when?” Camille remained shell shocked.

“Oh, I- Well. I hadn’t actually got that far,” he smiled self depreciatingly. “Maybe one evening this week?” 

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Relief flooded through Richard as he watched her smile light up her face.

“Good. That’s good.” He nodded. 

Camille stepped forward, pressing her lips to his briefly. “I love you too.” She murmured, caressing his cheek as she withdrew. 

Someone in the queue clapped their hands together and another exclaimed noisily. He ignored them, his attention solely focused on the woman in front of him, eyes shining, hair messily half tied back and carryall bag hanging awkwardly off one arm. He carefully slipped it back up and onto her shoulder. 

She loved him. 

He took her hand, sliding his fingers through hers and led her back to their place in the queue, walking tall. The urge to puff out his chest felt almost too strong to resist and he stifled a chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all. Didn’t these sorts of things only happen to other people, those much younger than him?

Camille caught his eye, she was still beaming. Perhaps not then. 

In front of them, Catherine was digging in her handbag determinedly and muttering loudly. Apparently fixated on searching for something in its depths, she was drawing attention towards herself. As the queue began to move she pulled her passport out with a flourish, waving it dramatically. “Aha! There it is.” 

“But wasn’t that in-?” Richard broke off, feeling Camille's elbow digging into his ribs. He’d quite plainly seen her place it in the breast pocket of her jacket earlier, so as not to lose it before the flight. 

“Merci Maman.” Camille quietly interrupted, squeezing Richards palm for good measure. 

“This is the final boarding call for flight AF4453 destination Ajaccio. Would all remaining passengers please make their way to gate 15 immediately.” The flight attendants voice projected tinnily through the tannoy.

Richard looked across at Camille, shuffling forward in parallel with their fingers interlaced and smiled. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Is my mention of ghosts a vague nod to the preview for series 10? You betcha!
> 
> I hope you liked this.


End file.
